Gaslight
is an old, old
movie. It’s a classic. It’s an old classic. The beautiful Ingrid Bergman is in
it. She’s a classic.
In the movie, her husband tries to
drive her insane by moving stuff, hiding stuff, and dimming stuff. The movie
coined the term gaslighting or to be gaslighted. It means trying to drive
people crazy by means of moving stuff, hiding stuff, and dimming stuff like the
gaslights.
Since the invention of the
lightbulb, people (mostly my husband) try to gaslight people (mostly me) by
acting like they’ve NEVER heard people (again me) say that I need someone
(mostly my husband) to change the lightbulb in the ceiling fan on the porch.
Because if I change it I have to drag the ladder from the barn, climb to the
shaky top, balance on the top rung, while holding the lightbulb in my mouth and
. . .
It’s still dark out there on the
porch when the racoons form a human
pyramid trying to pick the lock to the office and get to the mini-fridge.
The gaslighting conversation goes
like this. “Honey, did you change the lightbulb, so that I can fight off racoons
in the night?”
Honey says, “What porch?”
Recently, Honey was in Australia.
He called me and wanted to know if I wanted a pair of Ugg boots. I said, “No
thanks. I think they’re ugly and they make me look like an Inuit Indian, but I
could go for a pair of those backless, slip-ons they make.” I purposely did not
call them mules because I was pretty sure he’d bring me an actual mule.
He bought a pair of Ugg boots for
daughter # 1, daughter # 2, daughter-in-law # 1, and a neighbor lady. I received?
A bookmark.
Made of wood.
With a kangaroo.
Am I speaking English? Is he? Did
my desk lamp just dim?
And don’t even get me started on
how often he thinks he’s told me stuff because he thought it to himself really
loudly, or is he just pretending to think stuff he never told me?
Gaslighting.
Linda (Light Bright) Zern
